Addictions
by enchanted.teapot
Summary: Unhealthy relationships lead to unhealthy addictions. Six months since she left him but Draco still has his vices.


**A/N:** This one-shot would just not..._shoot_ the way I wanted it! I don't think it could decide exactly what it wanted to be and so will probably, _definitely_ need tweaking when I've gotten over my initial angsty crush for these two.

**Warnings: **Bitter angsty blahness...Bad habits...Oh and Harry's deceased. Sorry scar-head...  
**Disclaimer**: All of these wondrous creations and characters are _mine_. Oh no...wait a second...they're not. Damn you JKR *shakes fist in jealous rage*.  
Also, this whole piece and some of the dialogue is shamelessly inspired/taken from the gobsmackingly amazing script of the film _'Closer.'_ Which you should all watch and drool over right now.

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**Addictions**

If Draco had known that she was going to be here then he would probably have never come. He was cowardly like that, or so his father always told him, avoiding the confrontations that really mattered. Draco had scoffed at this, after all passing information to the Order these past four years had not come without its fair share of conflicts and yet here he was, skulking around the edge of a social gathering he could have usually conducted with his eyes closed; following the sway of that long red hair, those perfect hips as she mingled effortlessly, smiling and laughing and steadfastly ignoring his unwavering stare.

Five months, twenty four days and, he checked his watch, almost two hours since the last time he had seen her. Not that he was keeping track.

Almost six months since she had left him, walking out on him without a word, Sweet Circe, he had thought she'd just gone out for a walk to cool off after one of their rows. It was only after she had sent two of her brothers, he forgot which ones; couldn't tell them apart anyway, round to collect her things a week later that he began to realise she might not be coming back.

And now she turned up here, _here_ of all places, at some silly society gala for the launch of the new Falcons away strip. His turf. The nerve of it was positively maddening

He growled over the rim of his scotch glass as he watched her lay a delicate hand on her date's forearm. His own date twittered aimlessly at his side, chatting about the weather and the latest Prophet headlines with Blaise and his fiancé; she was pretty, she was nice, she was really rather dull which left Draco with ample opportunity to sift through the barrage of hurtful asides he had been mentally compounding this past half year in case of such a chance encounter.

Oddly, however, none of them seemed to spring to mind now that the occasion had arisen, not that it mattered of course. Certainly, he wouldn't be the one to call truce on this obvious stalemate, his pride, dented as it was by her initial abandonment never mind the way she was refusing to acknowledge him here tonight, would simply not allow it.

But her pull was too strong and at last he approached her; she had drifted from the crowds and out onto the balcony, lighting up a cigarette as she leaned over the railings, staring out at the distant lights of muggle London.

He stepped out into the cool evening air, eyes trailing down the cut of her backless dress. She stiffened at his presence but didn't turn around.

"I see you're here with Belby," he muttered after a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of her Marlboro Lights, "I didn't know princesses really did kiss toads."

"You mean frogs,"

He frowned, "Toads."

"Frogs,"

"Toads, frogs, lobsters. They're all the same," he growled at last. He saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

She turned then, facing him head on with that same coy smile that had driven him half mad countless times before. "Want one?"

She held out her packet of cigarettes, he paused then shook his head. "Gave up," he grunted, besides he didn't want any one, he wanted _that_ one, the one in her hand, the one that had been on her lips moments before. The one that would taste of her.

She arched a slim eyebrow in amusement and turned back to the city, "How uncharacteristically mature of you,"

"I find myself very uncharacteristic of late."

"Must be exciting,"

"It has its moments."

A strange silence followed. Draco watched, transfixed, as she flicked her cigarette, the ash tumbling down over the balcony railings like crumbling, grey petals. A light breeze tossed a few thin strands of copper-red hair about her face, some caught on her cheek and Draco found he had to clench his fist to stop himself from reaching out and brushing his fingers across the creamy white skin.

"I wasn't sure you would speak to me," she said softly, at last betraying a hint of uncertainty whilst keeping her gaze firmly trained on the lights of the apartment block across the way.

"Neither was I," he sipped at his drink.

She looked at him again, pinning her shoulders back almost defiantly. "I'm glad you did,"

He nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing. He wasn't so sure he should have anymore. Just standing here, being so near, breathing in the same smoke-clouded air as her was turning his head, making him feel disoriented again after almost six months of steady ground.

"Come home with me,"

It was strange, if he hadn't felt his lips move he would have sworn someone else was speaking. Hadn't he promised himself he would at least try and maintain a little of his dignity? At least it was an order and not a request, yes, nicely authoritarian. He wasn't completely done over just yet.

She sighed, seemingly disappointed. Perhaps she'd thought she'd given him enough time? Always underestimating him.

"I think your date might mind,"

Draco held her gaze intensely, "I've already forgotten her name,"

"I bet it was pretty,"

"I dare say it was, _Ginevra_."

She scowled at that and for a fleeting second Draco was reminded of the once vivacious young woman that had first captivated him so completely, the one he used to watch across rooms, laughing and teasing and berating her swarm of red-headed, red-faced brothers; that child like stubbornness that had been so fascinating to find in a woman of her steely confidence, before so many things had robbed her of her innocent splendour.

Before the war had taken her electricity and left her with a curious passiveness, before she had watched her child-hood sweet heart give his life for the cause everyone else seemed to care so very much about, before she had crawled into his own bed; thin and lonely and broken beneath the surface.

But mostly before they had ruined one another, drowning in some indefinable, unenviable relationship in which neither party had managed nor wanted to find the space to breathe, suffocating the both of them till each were left without the capacity to register normal, human emotion but instead the unhealthy desire to simply feed off the fight, revelling in the intensity of the lies, the games and the undeniable fury of passion.

Now, Draco found, he desired nothing else.

He watched her face cloud again as she hastily stubbed out her cigarette. "Marcus will be waiting. I should go-,"

He caught her arm as she turned and the sudden contact made them both shiver involuntarily, long dormant nerve cells crackling to life.

"Come now, Weasley," he muttered coolly, "I think you owe me for deceiving me so exquisitely."

"I don't know what you mean," she stuck out her chin, hazel eyes flashing but she could feel herself thawing, her resolve melting and trickling downwards to simmer in her navel as she felt his hot breath on her neck. Merlin, how could she have ever hoped to forget that stare?

Draco quirked an eyebrow, "You told me you'd be right back."

"Well here I am," she sniped, "sorry I'm late."

"Don't try and be clever. Smug never did suit you,"

"And yet you wear it so well, my darling,"

Ginny knew that all she had to do was run her fingers through those soft blonde locks and the first hints of a sneer would be quashed in an instant but she kept her small hand pinned to her side as she watched his lip curl.

She realised almost too late that this was the thing she missed the most about the man now towering over her, the way he wore his ice cold heart on his sleeve, the scowls and snarls of distaste visible to all. A merciless honesty. The very reason she had turned to him, _crawled on her knees_ _to him_, in the first instance.

His overt realism, his complete lack of tact despite his arsenal of other social graces; she had known that he, unlike everyone else, would not spin her grief into a fantasy of their own. He would not encourage her the way the others did; the beautiful young woman weeping for their fallen hero was not an image he seemed to share.

Those first few months following the war's end, he had been her only respite. The only one who would not coo or comfort but speak to her as brusquely as ever without apparent concern for her broken heart. It was only afterwards, after she had begun to crave his cruel company that she was struck with the thought that perhaps he had not been as callous as he appeared but that his insensitivity had been an intentional foothold for her recovery.

Whether such a notion held true or not, Ginny had found that she loved him for it.

But such affection had quickly soured. The reality of offering herself to Draco Malfoy was that he took it all and twisted, till she barely recognised the long, red-haired girl who smiled and waved back at her from old school photographs, till she thought nothing of all the fights and the lies and the hurtful humour, till she was fit for no one else and nor did she want to be.

Draco watched her face darken with defeat and allowed himself a predatory smirk.

"Well?"

"Ten minutes," Ginny whispered, almost pained by the ease with which her resolve had wilted, at how quickly the throb of need for him had overwhelmed her better judgement. "I'll tell Marcus I'm getting a migraine."

Draco curled his fist more tightly around her arm, pulling her so close that she could smell the scotch on his lips and the nicotine on hers. He wasn't sure he would last ten minutes. Finally relenting, he wet his lips, knocked back the remains of his drink in one large, scorching mouthful and followed her, at a distance, back into the crowded room.

For in this world everyone has their vices and for Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy, this was one addiction that was already too far gone.


End file.
